Words
by Hatsuka
Summary: Remus is having some trouble finding the right words. Remus/Sirius, oneshot songfic that ended up too long again ... Enjoy!


**A/N:** **So, a little nervous about this. Somehow, I've never written boyxboy (yes, people, this is boyxboy. If you hadn't worked that already and you have issues with that, this probably isn't for you) or Remus/Sirius before… The fact that my friends Kiariad and Marauders-And-Lily-I-Love write this pairing so brilliantly doesn't help much either. Having probably put you off now… um, enjoy?**

**Song: Words – P!nk**

_Take Y  
Take the letter  
Take it out of the alphabet_

Why. I _hate_ 'why'. It's a million reasons for being hopelessly, irredeemably and above all suffering silently in love. And I certainly don't say 'suffering' lightly. This whole thing has been an interesting investigation into the concept of torture. In the usual girl/boy falls in love with best friend scenario, they're at least able to initiate _something_ without pitching face-first into that big old barrel of awkward. But when your best friend is also male and is, to the best of your knowledge, poker-straight? A little tricky, to say the least. It must be easier for girls. They're always hugging each other or walking around arm-in-arm. As guys, we don't go in so much for that kind of thing. I'd probably carry right on as I'm doing now if it hadn't got to the point of me wanting so desperately to tell him, to say something, _anything_, that it's probably safer to just confess now with minimum (but still realistically gargantuan) potential humiliation, before I just can't hold it in any longer and blurt out some incomprehensible heap of embarrassingly fangirl-y and grammatically hideous verbal goo.

_  
Don't ask me why  
No more questions  
Just accept it  
For the way it is_

Well, there's not a lot of point in angsting over this. It is how it is. I'm sort of resigned to it now. There are times when he smiles at me with no idea what he's doing to my body and I want nothing more than to hit him across whichever room we're in for doing this to me, times when we're laughing together and I know I'll never give him up, times when he's jacked up on this infectious, innocent, kid-in-a-toyshop excitement and I get this sudden irrational urge to tell him that I'd follow him anywhere. To be honest, the latter are usually followed by my mind helpfully playing a pessimistic yet frankly likely projection of his reaction to this statement, in which he looks at me with an expression that I can describe only as – may the gods forgive me for this – wtf.

_  
Words are just words  
That get in my way  
I can never say what I wanna say  
Who will understand it anyway?  
It's just a waste_

I groan aloud into my pillow, frustrated and confused. It shouldn't be this hard for someone with a vocabulary like mine to find the words to find the words to tell their best friend that they are your entire world. That's a whole bucketload more true than I'd like to admit. I've barely looked at anyone else since I realized why something wasn't quite right between us. One day, we're just friends, no emotional angst/inner torment/he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not or anything like that going on. I'm starting to annoy myself now. I can't even begin to think how much anyone I was telling all this to would want to kill me. Then, the next day, something a little strange, something I can't put my finger on. The day after that, I get a good morning smile from him and there it is, full-blown lust for my best friend, dropped on my doorstep like an abandoned baby: You certainly can't ignore it, much as you might want to, and it's fairly difficult to a) explain or b) get rid of. It's not like I haven't tried. I've made copious lists of everything I hate about him, I've even been girl-watching with him, _praying _to fall in love with someone, anyone but him. I failed, needless to say. His eyes were practically surgically grafted to a parade of long eyelashes, candy-pink lips and soft curves while I was noticing his perfect cheekbones, shaggy, tousled hair, heart-attack-inducingly intense expression, unreasonably delicious-looking lips molded into a permanent slight smile. I can't believe this is what he's reduced me to. I used to be a different person completely – I was clever, rational, level-headed. Now I'm not much better than the hordes of fangirls.

_  
Take M  
Mmm mmm  
It's so lovely, so delicious, it says it all_

It's the temptation that's making me do this now, if I'm honest. One hears the fangirls raving about how gorgeous he is, but you don't quite get the full impact from words. They're usually not at their mental or verbal best while talking about him, either. It's not even like he pays them much attention. The more obvious packs of them stalking him get the occasional smile (which is enough to send them all off packing to the hospital wing, so I don't complain), but I have to deal with _at least_ that most every day. I could swear sometimes that he knows exactly what he's doing to me, and that he and everyone else in the immediate vicinity can actually hear my heart trying to right itself after he's thrown it off its rhythm. It's not just the smiles either. The whispered additions to the professor's lesson – '_Well, he should know. He's old enough; he was probably around when it happened. Right, Moon?_' – which I can hardly pay any attention to listening to as I'm trying so hard not to think about those perfect lips so close to my ear; the (inappropriately, all things considered) feline stretches when he gets out of his chair at the end of a lesson; the unconscious physical grace and long, lean limbs; the playful shoves and hair-ruffles that keep me awake at night. He's a shameless tease as well; he's always licking his fingers, licking his lips, chewing at the end of his pencil when's he's trying to work out what to write next (He refuses to use quills for homework. I believe it's a rebellion thing). This last one is particularly unfortunate, as I've usually noticed what he's doing and am struggling to keep my imagination in check when he asks _me_ for the answer. There've certainly been some pretty close shaves over the last few months. I'm torn between the opinions that this collection of habits is for the benefit of any girls present or, alternately, that he doesn't realize he's doing it. Not that _why_ he does it matters, all that's important is that it drives me out of my mind.

_I don't like X  
Ex-boyfriends, ex-girlfriends  
Exactly what I don't need  
Twisting my words so easily_

This would be easier if it wasn't for Sirius'… history. It's certainly made it harder for me to keep my secret. Every time I've seen him looking into some new girl's puppy-eyes and telling her that she's the most beautiful creature he's ever seen/different to all the others/the only girl for him (the blessing/curse of being the Known Associate. I know all his pickup lines. Not that I blame the girls, I have to say. To be looked at with those surreally beautiful eyes – on which it's better for everyone if I just don't get started – and hear that voice – dark and smoky and tempting and always on the edge of laughing – telling you everything you want to hear… well, all I'm saying is that I wouldn't fare any better), I've had to beat down the temptation to haul them apart and bitchslap her, no matter how nice she is. However, I've always felt that this could be construed as a little rude, not to mention both weird and possessive._  
_

_Words are just words  
That get in my way  
See like right now, I wanna tell you that I love you  
but I don't know how_

It's certainly a challenge, this planning a confession business. It's not helping that there's a part of me that can't believe that I'm being stupid enough to do this – putting my relationship with him on the line declaring my undying love to someone who I'm at least eighty per cent sure does not share my sexual orientation. It's not even just him, it's James too. I'm effectively kicking myself out of the group if this goes badly. Do I need to do this? It'll be interesting to see how much longer I can hold out before I publicly humiliate myself or go insane. I can't believe I even thought about thinking that last bit. Haven't I been thinking that for the past few months? Haven't I vowed to myself at least eleven times that I'm going to do this? No, I will. Oh, but it's so bloody _difficult!_ I don't even know how to start working out what to say. Well, the least I can do is decide on an approach. Casual? Tempting, but there's the distinct chance he'll think I'm winding him up, which isn't exactly what I'm going for. Serious? Oh, the irony of my word choice there. He'll certainly take me seriously, but I would guess that that when – _if _– I get summarily rejected, it's going to be at least seventy-three point eight per cent more awkward.

_  
Put the H with the A with the TE,  
give it power, you could destroy me  
Put the L, with the O with the VE,  
Give that power and you don't have to say anything_

I must be overcomplicating this. There are only three words I need – I'm sure you can figure out which three – anything else is surplus, little bits of unnecessary frilliness (I cannot believe I just used that word. Proof, above and beyond all else, of the effect this boy has on me) on what I actually mean. I think the best way forward is going to be to curtail all babble as much as possible. It'll get it over with faster, which at this point is really all I care about. It's going to be strange when… other people know about this. It's been in my in my head – nearly all that's in my head, if I'm honest – for so long now. This can't be that difficult. After all, surely it's what you're feeling that matters, not how you say it. Fine, fine, I know full well it's not, but it should be.

_Words are just words  
That get in my way_

I'm rather caught off guard at this point by Sirius himself bounding in. Bounding is certainly the word, he's positively glowing. I'm certainly not about to ask what happened to that pretty redhead he was chatting up earlier. I yank myself up, wondering slightly what I'm doing here, at eight o' clock at night, sprawled out fully-clothed on top of my bed, gazing at the ceiling, contemplating my decidedly non-platonic obsession for my best friend. I give myself a mental shake. It's now or never.

He catches something slightly… off, in my expression, but mercifully doesn't mention where he's been. Now or never, now or never.

'What happened, Moon? You've been weird for weeks. Tell me?' he looks at me pleadingly. Oh God, this is why I have to do this now. I clear my throat slightly and detach my tongue from the roof of my mouth. Why the hell am I so scared? We've known each other for years; talked about anything and everything.

'Pad,' – the nickname reminds me that there's a chance everything'll be fine, a chance that he'll accept me. My heart must be trying to escape through my shirt – 'there was something I… wanted to talk to you about.'

_  
Words are just words  
That get in my way_

He flings himself down on his bed, gazing earnestly at me with real concern. It reminds me that he's my friend. Reminds me that in at least that way, he does care about me. At least he's not quite so… buoyed now. I would never have been able to think if I'd been trying not to work out why he was so happy.

'Tell me.'

_  
Words are just words  
That get in my way_

Now or never_._

'You're going to laugh.'

'I won't. I swear.'

'Fine, then.'

_  
Take B,  
and just let it… be._

'Pad…' Now or never. 'I think I love you.'

-x-

**Well, hope you enjoyed ^.^**

**Like I said, this is a total first attempt at anything like this AND I'm a little rusty. Feedback makes happy writers! If you all liked, I might do a couple more little songfics – some Remus/Sirius, maybe some Lily/James. I'm looking at Stray Italian Greyhound [Vienna Teng], How Do you Do? [Natasha Bedingfield], Attention [Tokio Hotel], Heartbreaker [Pink] and also Trouble is a Friend [Lenka]. Obviously I won't write all of these, so if you want to 'vote' in a review, please feel free! :3**

**Imma stop wasting your time now… **


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